Take This Waltz
by Chairman-Meowith
Summary: In which Sherlock teaches Molly to dance for a wedding. Molly is injured and the two have a nice evening. Sherlolly everytwhere, started as a fluffy plot bunny for a request I got on Tumblr reviiiiiewssssss? :D
1. Chapter 1

"Explain to me again why you need to learn how to dance," Sherlock commanded as he set up the cd player.

"I-it's a wedding," Molly mumbled, "My cousin," Sherlock made an indistinct noise in the back of his throat as he finished setting up the music. He threw his coat over one of the empty slabs, then turned and pushed play on the player. Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake filled the room and Sherlock motioned for Molly to step closer as the sweet notes played in the air. Molly hesitantly drew nearer and Sherlock, grinned at her. He didn't tell anyone, but he secretly loved ballroom dancing. It was unfortunate that somethings required a partner and he really wasn't about to ask anyone to dance with him, but since the opportunity had arisen, he figured he might as well take it.

"Put your left hand on my shoulder and your right in my left," he held out his hand for her and when she placed her hand on his shoulder, he wrapped his arm around her, placing his hand gently on her back. "Excellent, now step back with your right foot, then step to the left," Sherlock moved with her as she did as he instructed. "Feet together," Molly moved her left foot back as Sherlock did the same and tripped over him. Sherlock tightened his grip until Molly regained her balance,

"S-sorry," she gasped, turning an interesting shade of pink.  
"It's fine, next time step with your right," Sherlock was a little embarrassed, he had forgotten to tell her which foot. "Let's try again, shall we?" Molly nodded and readjusted her grip on his hand. "Back, left, right," Sherlock reminded her as he led her through the steps again, this time more smoothly. They continued with the three steps until Sherlock was satisfied that Molly wasn't going to step or fall on him. "Now do that again, then switch feet," he was amused to note that Molly looked incredibly nervous, far more than she really should have been. He didn't know that Molly was trying not to think about how wonderful it felt to be able to feel his muscles moving beneath his thin linen shirt, how the top three buttons of his shirt were undone, the tiniest glimpse of his collar bone showing through. She was trying not to think about his penetrating gaze or how he smelled faintly of clover and cut grass. Sherlock didn't know that she was desperately trying not to think about his hand, placed slightly lower on her back than it needed to be, or how gently he was holding her hand. Sherlock just noticed that her pulse was elevated and that her hands were trembling ever so slightly.

They began to repeat the steps again, slowly until Molly got the hang of it, then more quickly, eventually in time to the music. "You learn quickly," Sherlock remarked, pleased that she wasn't falling all over the place. Molly didn't reply, she couldn't really, she was concentrating too hard on the steps and not making herself look stupid. Much to Molly's dismay, the tune was soon over. Sherlock wasn't pleased either. He hadn't danced in ages and he didn't want to stop. He released Molly and stepped back.

"Is that it then Sherlock?" She asked, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice.  
"Of course not," Sherlock replied, seeing that she was just as eager to continue as he was, "Molly Hooper, you have so much more to learn about dancing," he bounced back to the speakers and soon Swan Lake was playing all over.


	2. Chapter 2

Molly hovered outside of Lestrade's office, where Sherlock was having a heated argument with the Detective Inspector. She needed to ask him another favour, but she didn't want to text him. It was too embarrassing. Sherlock stormed out of the room a moment later and slammed the door. Presumably the argument hadn't gone his way.

"Uh, S-Sherlock?" Molly asked timidly, jogging to keep up with the tall man.

"What do you want Molly, I have things to do." Not technically true, he was just going back to the flat to sleep and harass John, but he wasn't in the mood for dealing with people at the moment, especially after the argument he'd had with Lestrade.

"Um, never mind I'll just-," Molly went to walk away, but Sherlock stopped her, grabbing her arm. He turned her back towards him and let go quickly.

"Tell me," he ordered softly, feeling a little bad about how rude he'd been. It wasn't Molly's fault Lestrade was being nasty and it was obviously important to her or she wouldn't have asked.

"It was just- I was wondering if maybe, you could give me a-another lesson?" Molly asked shyly, hoping that he wasn't going to say something nasty and storm off. She wouldn't have asked, but he had told her to and she never really could say no to him. Sherlock looked down at her coolly as he decided what he should do.

"Of course I will Molly," he answered after what seemed to her like an agonizing wait, but was really only a few minutes.

"Oh good- I mean, thank you," Molly stammered. Sherlock favoured her with a very small smile, only moving one corner of his mouth to grin at her.

"When would you like?" He asked her, her shyness never ceased to amuse him. He was well aware of why she was so much more nervous around him, so he didn't comment.

"I w-was thinking now?" Molly asked. Everything with her seemed to be a question. For some reason she seemed to be incapable of actually stating her opinion without asking permission.

"Alright, is the disk player still in the morgue?" She nodded affirmation, so Sherlock inclined his head briskly and set off for the morgue, not waiting to see if she was following, but assuming that she would.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

When he reached the morgue, he threw his coat over a slab, forcibly reminded of the time he taught Molly to waltz a couple weeks ago.

"Do you have a marker?" Sherlock asked abruptly, turning to speak to the out of breath mortician. Molly nodded again and rushed off to find one. She used it to mark the bodies sometimes, it was red and a little chewed on, but where was it... Molly searched frantically for the permanent marker, not even bothering to question why Sherlock needed it or what he was going to draw on.

"A little faster if you please, Molly," Sherlock demanded impatiently. He didn't have anything urgent that needed doing, but that certainly didn't mean he was going to waste his time. She finally procured the marker and handed it to him. Sherlock eyed it distastefully, noting the bite marks, but eventually accepted it. He quickly scrawled a large diagram across the floor of the morgue, large footprints to illustrate where Molly should step. "It's easiest this way," he explained, noting her horrified expression. He'd get the janitor to scrub it off later. "Give me your hand," Sherlock demanded, tossing the marker behind him. Molly placed her hand in his and he grabbed her waist, pulling her close. "Your other hand goes on my shoulder," Molly complied again. "Good now, slow, slow, quick, quick," Sherlock moved gracefully, steadying Molly who seemed to be having a harder time with this dance. Well then again, she was moving backwards. He completed the move, stepping slowly backwards. "Again," he proclaimed. He stepped forward twice, slowly. Sherlock went to do the quick step, but Molly was unprepared and he stepped into her, knocking her off balance. Molly gripped his hand and shoulder more tightly to try and keep from falling, but only succeeded in pulling him off balance too. Sherlock fell on top of her in a tangle of arms and legs. Molly shrieked as his weight was transferred fully on top of her and her ankle twisted painfully. Sherlock rolled off of her as soon as he got his bearings and stood up. "Are you alright Molly?" She nodded quietly,

"I think so." Molly took his outstretched hand. She allowed Sherlock to pull her gently to her feet, only to cry out again and crumple when she tried to put weight on her foot. Sherlock swept her up before she could fall and carried her to a slab.

"Obviously not, let me look," Sherlock took her ankle gently and rolled up her pant leg. Her ankle was red and swollen. "That could be broken," Sherlock muttered, examining it closely. Molly shook her head.

"No i-it can't be the wedding's in a m-month," Molly squeaked.

"Come on, I'll take you to the E.R."

"N-no it's fine. I can take m-myself," she stammered, sliding off the bench, a small cry escaping her as she fell back against the slab.

"No you can't," Sherlock glared at her. "You'll only damage it more," he put an arm behind her knees and the other behind his other shoulder, lifting her easily into his arms. Molly's cheeks were flaming and she thought she might die of embarrassment. Sherlock wasn't holding her in a particularly sexual way, but Sherlock holding her at all was enough to make her timid.

"It's really ok, Sherlock," Molly murmured, trying not to look at his face, unable to make eye contact.

"Please be quiet Molly," Sherlock drawled, sliding through the elevator doors and hitting the button for the emergency floor.

He walked through the lobby of the hospital, attracting far too many curious glances for Molly's liking. Her face turned even redder if that was at all possible and Sherlock thought she might be about to cry.

"Alright, nearly there," Sherlock muttered, glaring at one intern who was staring at them, open-mouthed. "Don't you have a job to do?"He snapped, almost smiling when everyone resumed their usual activities.


End file.
